


Objects in Space

by Fuhadeza



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, During Canon, F/F, and in chairs, cuddling in space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24573925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fuhadeza/pseuds/Fuhadeza
Summary: Catra gets to (re)know the Best Friends Squad. It's not always easy.Scenes from the gap between episodes 5x06 (Taking Control) and 5x07 (The Perils of Peekablue).
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 113
Kudos: 760





	Objects in Space

**Author's Note:**

> this took me much longer than I expected. hopefully it was worth it :D

The only diary Catra has ever kept is in her head.

What would be the point of a physical volume? She would only fill it with lies. The truth is dangerous enough as a small voice in the back of her head. Lies are safer, but she hardly needs black letters on white paper to lie to herself.

Only the voice is louder, now. It’s keeping her awake. The remnants of Horde Prime’s control are sloughing off her body and her mind, the chip’s delicate interface coming apart, crumbling off her neck like rust. Like a scab. She bleeds in fits and starts, matting her fur, and every time she wipes the blood away it looks cleaner. Every time, the voice gets louder. She imagines ink smearing her fingers instead of blood. She imagines an empty expanse of cheap paper. She fills it.

The image is so vivid she almost thinks she’s dreaming. The page in her mind’s eye holds every truth she has kept close to her chest, every thought she has hidden in the seams of her clothing. Every emotion. It only takes five words, repeated in every version of her handwriting she can remember and some she can’t.

 _She came back for me_ , Catra writes, over and over, until she falls asleep with her claws digging into the sheets like the nib of a pen caught in paper.

*

Catra is so good at lying she sometimes forgets she’s doing it.

‘Hey. You okay?’

It’s not the first time Adora asks, and it’s not the first time Catra says, ‘I’m fine,’ and Adora looks at her, disbelievingly, and drops the question.

The days are long in space. Catra doesn’t have much to do but sit with the others and listen to their years of accumulated friendship.

‘What do you think everyone else is getting up to, back home?’ Bow asks. He’s lying with his head in Glimmer’s lap, the remains of dinner scattered beside them. ‘Other than kicking Horde Prime’s butt, obviously. Do you think they still have time to eat dinner together?’

‘Perfuma would make sure they do.’

Adora glances at Catra when she says this, like she always does when she talks about her princess friends. She tries to keep the smile off her face whenever Catra looks back, but Catra is good at looking without being seen. She sees every smile. Catalogues it. Learns its boundaries.

Adora isn’t lying in her lap.

‘Yuck,’ Glimmer says. ‘That means they’re all living off salad.’

Bow perks up. ‘Remember when Perfuma brought carrot sticks to Netossa’s game night—’

‘—and Netossa chased her out with an ice cream spoon—’

‘—and Perfuma got really sulky and spent the rest of the night cheating at cards! Netossa couldn’t understand why she kept losing.’

‘The _flower girl_?’ Catra can’t help but interject. ‘Really?’

‘Perfuma can be very petty,’ Adora says, grinning, ‘when she lets herself.’

‘I miss them,’ Glimmer says softly. ‘I hope Frosta’s doing okay.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Bow says, and for the hundredth time Catra wonders how someone can sound so _certain_ when the situation is anything but. ‘She’s got people looking out for her. She’s got your dad!’

The smile on Glimmer’s face is gossamer-thin. ‘Yeah. You’re right.’

There’s a moment where everyone’s eyes find Catra, one after the other, and she can practically read their thoughts. Glimmer has one parental reunion to look forward to, but she should have two.

And that’s the thing. Catra knows there’s tension between them and her. She sees it in glimpses. But they include her nonetheless. Speak to her with soft words. They’re good at casual kindness. Sometimes Catra wonders if they’re so good, they forget they’re doing it.

Because the nights are different. At night she can hear footsteps slow as they pass the entrance to her room. Sometimes they stop. No one ever speaks, but she can imagine them wondering, as she does, if she really ought to be here. If this is right.

It never occurs to her to sit up, to invite Bow or Glimmer or Adora in, to make them say those things out loud. It never occurs to her to do anything but pretend to sleep.

‘Hey, Catra!’ Entrapta’s voice is jarringly loud. ‘Remember that time we were testing my new bots, and She-Ra figured out how to beat them and you got really mad and refused to talk to me and Scorpia for a whole week?’

Catra freezes. ‘Uh.’ She glances at Adora, tries to tell if they’re sharing the same memory, if Adora had put as much time into her _Hey, Catra_ as Catra spent thinking about it that week. ‘Yes?’ She’s pretty sure she’s blushing. It makes her snap, ‘Why?’, more aggressively than she probably should have.

‘No reason! I was making small-talk.’ Entrapta’s face falls, and Catra nearly feels guilty until she continues: ‘I liked those bots. But it’s okay! I used the same blueprints for the pulse bots, and _those_ were just _beautiful_ —’

Catra stands up too fast, tail flailing for balance. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she says, too loud, and makes for the door, fumbling it closed behind her just in time to hear Entrapta stage-whisper, ‘Did I say something wrong?’

*

Adora finds her, later, awake and with the lights on.

‘Can I come in?’

‘There’s no door.’ Catra’s tail is curled tightly around her, and she can’t be bothered to focus long enough for it to relax. ‘Not really an in-out situation, is it?’

'You know what I mean!’

Adora sounds cheerful. She’s probably fresh from the bridge, fresh from the warm circle of friends she takes for granted. Her smile fades, bit by bit, and Catra snorts under her breath.

‘Hey,’ Adora says. ‘You know you… don’t have to pretend. That the past didn’t happen. Right?’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

‘ _Hey_.’

This time there’s a flash of steel in Adora’s voice, and Catra’s ears perk up, ready for a fight. She recognises this Adora. She still has bruises from being tumbled out of bed.

‘ _What?_ ’ she snarls. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want you to quit running every time you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable!’

‘No one wants me here, Adora! Not—’ Catra gets her voice under control. She doesn’t want the whole ship to hear this. ‘Not that me. Okay? They want the harmless me.’

‘Even if that were true—which it _isn’t_ —when have you _ever_ been the person to—to smooth away your edges!’

‘ _My edges nearly killed them!_ ’

The ship can definitely hear them now.

‘They nearly killed _you_!’

Catra blinks. Sits back. ‘I mean, yeah? We were fighting a war—’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘What?’

‘I just— _we_ just want to help you, Catra.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah!’

‘Then why don’t you—’ _Leave me alone. Stop talking to me. Pretend nothing bad ever happened to us. Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking—_ ‘Why don’t you get me something to wear that’s not _underwear_?’

Adora’s mouth opens. Twists. Closes. ‘I… right. Um. Entrapta made us space suits, I can ask where she… Haha, um. Where do you even get clothes on a spaceship?’

‘Hello, She-Ra. Do you require clothing?’

The voice comes from nowhere in particular. Catra hisses in surprise. The hairs on her tail stand on end, and she smooths them down more roughly than she ought. Now the base of her tail hurts and it’s her fault. ‘Is the ship _listening?_ To us?’

‘I am programmed to recognise requests where they fall within my purview. That is all.’

‘Okay, um, Darla?’ Adora’s gaze is darting around, from Catra to the ceiling, as if she can’t quite tell where she’s supposed to address the ship. ‘Can you—make clothing? For Catra?’

‘Yes,’ the ship says. ‘Clothing synthesised.’

A panel pops open on the wall to Catra’s left. Adora stares at it for a moment, then approaches cautiously, as if concerned something is broken.

‘Oh,’ she says. ‘It’s a… closet?’

She pulls something out of the wall, a bundle of cloth, and stares at it.

‘Give it—give it here.’

Adora looks at Catra with something like wonder. She complies.

Catra remembers the hard angles of Hordak’s throne. It was not a comfortable seat to lounge in, but it wasn’t about comfort. Neither was the single black sleeve sheathing her right arm, tamping her fur down tight. It was about making an impression. She remembers the _thrill_ of him standing at the foot of the steps, staring up at her. It makes her hands contort. It’s not what she _wants_ anymore, it was never what she wanted, but here’s the ship, spitting her past back up at her, just like everyone else, constantly, and she can never forget what she did, and—

The black top falls from nerveless fingers and she freezes. Spread out on the floor, she can see it’s not the same, after all. Nearly but not quite. She’s aware that Adora is staring, too, and the faint way she says, ‘ _Oh!_ ’ tells Catra that she understands. She sees it, too.

‘How did it—’ Catra clears her throat. ‘How did it know?’

‘She must have… from my memories? I connected to the ship. When we escaped. I think.’

‘But it’s… different. It’s not the same outfit.’

Adora squats in front of her and picks up the top. Catra takes it from her. Adora’s hands close around hers, trap her in the loose grip of Adora’s gaze.

‘It’s how I see you,’ Adora says softly. ‘It’s who you were, plus who you are now.’

Catra’s heart is drumming a treacherous beat. How can something so simple as clothing have become so fraught? How can Adora be looking at her the way Catra’s always wanted to be looked at? How can she be herself, past, and herself, present, at the same time?

She can feel the sob gathering in her chest, stares down at their linked hands in an attempt to avert it, and that’s when she sees it. The sob becomes a laugh, startled and utterly genuine, and the tension between them snaps.

‘Your subconscious got rid of the sleeve but it kept the _Horde symbol?_ ’

Adora’s expression turns embarrassed. ‘What? No. Where?’

Catra holds the top up for her to see. ‘Wow, Adora. I can’t believe that’s what you really think of me.’

‘It’s not like that! It’s—they make good clothing? You know, this jacket is still—’

‘Oh, believe me, I’ve noticed.’

‘I swear, Catra, I don’t think that you’re still—’

‘Evil?’

‘With them,’ Adora says, firmly, even though her cheeks are flaming red. ‘I… trust you.’

Catra snorts. ‘Really?’

‘Yes! I know you’re a good person. And now you’re— _finally_ —proving it to everyone else.’

Catra doesn’t have the energy for a denial. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘For the clothes.’

Adora fidgets. ‘Well, it was Darla—’

‘Thank you,’ Catra says, only a little pointedly, ‘for giving me what I asked for.’

Adora’s mouth closes. She nods, once. All she says is, ‘You’re welcome.’

*

Sometimes Catra feels like she’s walking through a swamp. There’s the firm, dry ground, the times she can sit with everyone over dinner and say, off-hand, ‘Hey, Sparkles, I think your cooking is getting better.’

‘Thanks,’ Glimmer says. ‘That’s it for Mom’s foolproof recipes for dummies, though. Tomorrow I’ll have to experiment.’

The conversation goes on. And Catra could let it go, could chime in, _glad we agree you’re a dummy_ , but her thoughts snag on something, and before she knows it she’s mired in the mud.

‘Catra?’

She looks up. Glimmer is looking at her, outwardly concerned, but there’s something about the set of her mouth, something about the look in her eyes that puts Catra on edge. Maybe she’s imagining it. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s easier not to find out.

‘I’m going to bed,’ she says.

‘Catra, wait!’ Adora reaches up, snags Catra’s wrist. ‘Can I… say something?’

Catra’s instincts are telling her to run. Adora’s hand around hers contradicts them.

‘She told me we had to take care of each other,’ Adora says quietly. ‘Angella. And that’s what we’re doing. Right? Sometimes I still feel guilty that it wasn’t me, but as long as we’re—'

‘Wait.’ Catra’s voice is raw, but she needs to know. ‘You were… you were going to do it? Close the portal? You were going to—’

And it’s odd, because Adora doesn’t look angry. She looks nervous. ‘I had to try.’

‘Angella stopped her,’ Bow says. ‘She took Adora’s place.’

‘ _Adora’s_ place?’ Catra snarls. Her hackles are up. Her breathing is harsh, irregular. So close. She’d come so close to losing Adora without even knowing it. ‘Why was it _Adora’s place_ to begin with?’

‘Catra,’ Bow says firmly. ‘Are you really sure this is how you want to start this discussion?’

Catra wants to glare at him. To yell at him. But that was the thing about Bow: he didn’t get angry, not the way Glimmer did. The way Adora did. Catra knew how to handle them. She didn’t know how to handle Bow and his measured words, how to deal with someone who would hold her accountable as far as it was fair to do so and no further.

‘No,’ she mutters.

His expression loses some of its certainty, as if he had, in fact, expected her to yell. ‘Well, maybe we _should_ talk about it, all of us—’

‘I said _no_.’

‘Catra—’

‘We have a problem!’

The interruption is so unexpected it shuts them all up immediately. Four pairs of eyes turn to Entrapta, who is standing by the command console, one hand dancing across the controls.

‘The communications array is down! It needs to be rebooted.’

‘Okay,’ Bow says, visibly pulling himself together. ‘So reboot it?’

‘I can’t! It has to be done manually. From the outside.’

‘And you sound like it’s your birthday because…’

‘ _Outside,_ ’ Entrapta repeats. ‘In _space_.’

‘Oh. Right. Of course!’ Bow’s voice breaks into a squeak. ‘In space, where your only link to safety is a _rope_ and an _earpiece_.’

‘Actually, the earpieces won’t work until we fix this! Someone will have to go out. In _silence_.’ Entrapta glances back at the console. Her expression droops. ‘Although… it can’t be me. I have to make sure the software is working on this end.’

There’s a moment of silence in which the four of them absorb this information. Catra finds it painfully easy to read the room. Space stresses Bow out. That one’s easy. Glimmer? Glimmer hides it better, but Catra can see the discomfort in the way she hunches over and shivers. Of the four of them, Glimmer’s the only one who spent time outside _without_ a suit. And that leaves—

‘I’ll do it,’ Catra says, because if she doesn’t then Adora will, and everyone will smile and nod and breathe secret sighs of relief. Because that’s who Adora is, isn’t it? She takes one for the team.

Well. Not this time.

‘No,’ Adora says, right on schedule. ‘I should be the one. You don’t even have a space suit.’

‘Actually,’ Entrapta says, ‘she does. I mean. I made one for Catra, too.’

Catra’s ears perk up. ‘What? Why?’

‘Because I knew we’d go back for you.’ Entrapta cocks her head. ‘Isn’t that what we do? We go back for our friends.’

 _She came back for me_. The words waver in Catra’s mind. _They came back for me_. She blinks away tears. Which is true? It doesn’t matter. Both. She’s letting herself be distracted, and now the opening is gone and Adora is going to seize the moment for herself, like she always does, except Adora isn’t doing that at all, she’s looking at Catra like she can tell what she’s thinking and it’s one of the most terrifying things Catra has ever experienced.

‘We’ll both go,’ Adora says.

*

The helmet Entrapta made for her almost makes Catra cry all over again.

She’s worn helmets before, in Horde training exercises, but those were hard, unyielding things, made to a single mould and entirely uncaring of her unique anatomy. They made her ears hurt for days afterwards. This one is different. This one fits.

Adora glances at her mid-motion, suited up to her neck. ‘You look—’

‘If you say “cute”, I’m going to throw you out of this airlock.’

‘I think that’s the idea.’

‘ _Before_ you put the helmet on.’

‘I was going to say “comfortable”.’

Catra’s cheeks warm. She doesn’t say anything, but her tail gives her away, sweeping back and forth. It’s nearly as flexible in its sleeve as it would be without the suit.

‘Ready?’ Adora asks once her helmet is in place. ‘Remember, we won’t be able to talk once we’re out there. Not unless we’re touching.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I got it.’ Catra shoves past Adora and hesitates over the airlock controls for only a moment. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

One moment she’s inside, tethered to the wall. The next, the doors are open and she’s launched outwards, away from the ship, into—nothing. She feels the tug of the cable anchoring her to the ship, preventing her from drifting too far away, but it barely registers. There’s _nothing_.

All her life, Catra balled herself up into unnatural shapes. Some people went through life as if walking down a well-lit corridor, skipping from one side to the other, but her path was different. One blank wall after another, and every time she’s found the crevice through, contorted herself until she fit. It’s become habit. She’s not sure she knows how to uncrease herself.

Space is different. She curls in on herself and drifts. Space has room for her in all her configurations. There’s no hard edges to dig into her ribs, no jagged points to catch in her fur. She’s herself, and for once isn’t weighed down by it.

There’s a gentle impact from behind. Adora enters her field of vision and presses their helmets together. They’re so close, it’s almost like their faces are touching, and Catra can’t help the hitch in her breathing.

‘Are you okay?’

Adora’s voice echoes strangely, but Catra can still hear the gentleness, the lack of urgency. _She understands_.

‘It’s peaceful out here.’

Adora smiles. She doesn’t try to coax Catra out of her curled-up position. Instead, she pulls herself closer, hooks her ankles around Catra’s, her hands around Catra’s shoulders. She doesn’t break their helmet contact, but she doesn’t say anything else, either. Catra can hear her breathing, quiet and measured. She studies Adora’s face, watches Adora watching her. Adora doesn’t stop smiling.

Something shifts inside Catra. It’s so quiet she feels like she could say anything. She feels so close to Adora, despite the void of space between them. Maybe because of it. There have been few truly peaceful moments in Catra’s life. Opening her eyes in Adora’s arms, body whole and mind free, was one. This is another.

Catra draws in a ragged breath. She hadn’t noticed their breathing matching, but now the synchronicity breaks and she startles. Shakes herself.

‘Come on,’ Catra says, gruff, before she can blurt the truth. ‘We’re wasting time.’

She pulls herself back along her tether. Adora follows. It’s convenient, not being able to talk. It means Adora can’t contradict her. There’s nothing wasted about a moment of true peace.

The communications array is on top of the ship, just behind the bridge. The hull there is smooth and unmarked, but Adora raps twice and a panel pops open, as if it had been waiting for them. Maybe it had. Catra has learnt to stop questioning technology.

Adora pauses with her hands hovering over the ship’s innards. She glances at Catra, smiles sheepishly. Catra groans, then drifts forward and repeats the noise with her helmet pressed against Adora’s.

‘You don’t remember what to do, do you.’

‘No! I do! I just wanted to… double check… in case I had it wrong.’

‘That one.’ Catra reaches out and pulls a cable free of its socket. She does it without looking. Entrapta’s instructions were more than meticulous. It’s not like it’s _hard_. ‘And that one. And wait’—Catra counts out ten seconds with exaggerated hand gestures—‘and plug them back in. Easy. How did you get _anything_ done without me?’

‘I _had_ it,’ Adora mutters, replacing the panel.

‘Sure you did.’

‘Now what?’

And just like that, Catra’s heart is beating hard and fast. Their part is done. If they drift a few metres up the hull, they’ll be able to see Entrapta, running the reboot from the command console. A few minutes, she said. Stay outside, she said, until we’re sure it’s fixed.

But here? Here, they can neither see into the ship nor be seen from inside. Here, they’re alone again, and this time Catra has a time limit. A few minutes more in which no one can hear her speak.

‘Hey, Adora.’

Adora’s expression softens. ‘Hey, yourself.’

Catra can hear her pulse in her ears. It’s deafening. She can’t do this. Only she _has_ to do this. She has to say it, or the truth will fester inside her like it already has once before. She can’t and she must.

A compromise, then.

Catra catches Adora’s hands in hers and pushes away, just far enough to break the contact between their helmets. They spiral around a common axis, tethers unwinding behind them like wings.

And Catra says, ‘I love you. I’ve always, always loved you. And one day I’ll show you. One day I’ll tell you where you can hear. I promise.’

Part of her expects Adora to understand even through vacuum. Catra is almost disappointed when she doesn’t, when Adora’s brow furrows in the singularly perplexed look that has never failed to make Catra smile. But it’s enough, for now. Catra can tell by the way laughter bubbles up past her throat. She can tell because she feels weightless in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with space.

Adora pulls them together again. ‘You realise I couldn’t hear you, right? What did you say?’

The answer comes easy as a thought.

‘Everything.’

*

Catra finds Entrapta on the bridge.

‘How was it?’ Entrapta is beaming. ‘The suit? Not too cold? I had to use something less insulating for your tail, for flexibility—’ She cuts herself off. ‘Are you… crying?’

Catra almost laughs at the disbelief in Entrapta’s voice. ‘No,’ she lies. ‘And it was perfect. The suit was perfect. Thank you.’

Entrapta tilts her head. She does something on her tablet, glances down at a readout. ‘In the last week you’ve thanked me an order of magnitude more often. Did something change?’ She reaches for her recorder. ‘Can you tell me about it?’

‘Something’s still changing,’ Catra says slowly. ‘I’ll let you know if I figure it out.’

Entrapta blinks, puts down the tablet, puts down the recorder, and looks at Catra. She reaches out, touches Catra’s shoulder. Catra tries to remember if she’s ever done that before.

‘Don’t worry. I don’t always understand why things happen right away, either. It’s okay to take your time.’

Before Catra can so much as respond, Entrapta is turning back to her instruments, her data, but it’s all right. Catra doesn’t mind. It’s who Entrapta is, and she’s trying.

She’s trying.

*

Hours later, in bed, Catra’s ears perk up to the sound of footsteps. She considers letting them pass. Hasn’t she done enough, today? Hasn’t she been open enough? Vulnerable enough?

But even though she knows it’s artificial, that the lights would come in an instant if she wanted them to, the night, dim and quiet, reminds her of space, and Catra is sick, for once, of pretending to sleep.

‘Hey. Glimmer?’

Glimmer yelps. ‘How did you—’

‘I can see in the dark.’ Catra crosses her legs underneath her, hunches her shoulders only a little. ‘Also, I recognise your footsteps.’

‘That’s not creepy,’ Glimmer mutters, so low she probably thinks Catra can’t hear. ‘What do you want?’

‘Sit with me?’

To her credit, Glimmer doesn’t hesitate. She looks different in the dark, rendered in shades of grey, and that fact distracts Catra from what Glimmer is doing until it’s too late, until the two of them are back-to-back on the narrow cot. This time there’s no forcefield. This time there’s just someone else, someone other than Adora, pressed up against her. It takes her a few seconds to get used to it. Then something clicks.

‘I’m sorry.’ Catra thought it would be harder. But she’s already said the hardest thing out loud, even if she was the only one to hear, and the rest of the things she’s tried so hard to suppress are clamouring for their turn. ‘About… your mother.’

Glimmer goes very still. ‘Bow’ll be pleased. He insists we need to have this conversation.’

Catra’s claws are digging into her palms before she can stop them. Of course they’d discussed it. That was how it worked with these people who knew how to say what they felt.

‘I know. I got defensive earlier. Like I always do. But… I’m trying. To be better.’ Catra’s hand finds her opposite elbow. She grits her teeth. ‘So… I’m sorry. I didn’t… mean for that to happen.’

‘I believe you.’

‘You do?’

Glimmer sighs. ‘I tried blaming everyone. You, obviously. Adora, for a while, because she was there. Myself, because why not! But none of it helped. And I—I can’t keep blaming you. Maybe it would be easier if I could. But… I was so sure I was doing the right thing with the Heart. My friends tried to warn me and I pushed them away, because I wanted it to be _easy_.’

‘It’s not the same!’ Catra snaps, because otherwise she might start to think that it was. ‘You were trying to help everyone, and I was—’ Her whole body goes tense. What _had_ she been doing? Her mind shies away from imagining herself as she was back then. All she remembers is pain and rage, too much of both and the utter certainty that throwing the lever would make them go away.

Horde Prime, too, had tried to take her pain away.

The thought settles her. Catra is done running away from her feelings. She’s been there. She never wants to see it again.

‘It doesn’t have to be the same,’ Glimmer says quietly, ‘to help me understand. I wanted to believe there was a switch I could flip, a weapon I could use, and then we’d just _win_. But—’ Her voice breaks. ‘But now Horde Prime is here because of what I did. And I’m _terrified_ that no matter what I do, I can never make up for that. But I have to try. Because I believe you. I believe that you’re trying to be better. And if I can forgive you, then maybe I can forgive myself, too.’

Not long ago, this flood of emotion would have sent Catra scurrying for cover. Now she bends with it, lets it wash over her. Accepts it. It’s liberating. Uncomfortable, too—deeply uncomfortable, like someone touching her tail without permission. But she gave Glimmer permission. That’s the difference: she can choose to allow people in, if she wants. She can choose to bear the discomfort until it fades.

‘For what it’s worth, I know exactly what it’s like to make terrible decisions because of Shadow Weaver. I don’t blame you.’

Glimmer makes a sound somewhere between a snort and a sob. ‘I’d love to blame it on her, but she was actually one of the people trying to stop me.’

‘Huh. Really?’ Despite herself, Catra grins. ‘Funny thing is, that actually makes me like you even more.’

‘You like me, do you?’

‘What? No! I mean, you know, well—’ Why is the answer so easy? It’s not supposed to be easy. ‘Yeah?’

‘Aww, the big, bad lord of the Horde is making friends!’

‘Are you—are you _teasing_ me right now? Really?’

Glimmer laughs, full-throated. ‘I am. It’s what friends do.’

Catra braces herself more firmly against Glimmer’s back. Ponders, for a moment, what she’s about to say. It can’t possibly be as hard as telling Adora she loved her.

Catra says, ‘Friends?’

‘If you’re willing to call the sparkliest princess on Etheria your friend.’

‘Only if you’re willing to call Horde scum your friend.’

Glimmer reaches around, awkwardly, and grasps Catra’s hand in hers. Her grip is soft and uncertain. Unlike her. Except Catra only really knows her as an enemy. Maybe she’s softer as a friend. Or maybe not—maybe this is as strange a moment for Glimmer as it is for Catra.

‘Deal.’

*

It’s day when Catra finds Bow in the cargo bay, sorting through a box of food rations. She’s pretty sure the others have established a rota, and it’s his turn to cook.

‘Glimmer said I might be seeing you.’

Catra has a moment of pure frustration— _do you_ have _to_ always _talk to each other, how am I supposed to function like this_ —but she forces it down. That’s new, too. She’s run her whole life on kneejerk reactions. Taking a moment to think feels odd.

‘I never met Angella.’ Catra sits with her back to the wall, tail curled around her feet. She dares a glance at Bow: he’s not watching, but she can tell he’s listening by the way his fingers have stilled. ‘But I owe her… everything.’

She doesn’t expect Bow to understand, not entirely. She can’t say out loud what it means to her to know that someone had looked Adora in the eye and said, _Today is not the day you give yourself up. Today is not the day you leave the people you love behind_. It means Adora has listened before. It means, when the time came—and Catra was under no illusions that the time _would_ come—Adora might listen again.

‘I can’t make that up to her. Ever. But I can… maybe I can make it up to the people she loved.’

It’s not an apology. She’s aware. But she feels thin and brittle, as if her emotions will only reach so far. She can’t do it all at once. Can’t say “I’m sorry”, over and over, like ticking items off a list. This is what she _can_ say. She hopes it’s enough, for now.

Bow crouches beside her. Catra looks up at his face, because it’s either that or look at the stupid heart on his chest.

‘I always say that friendship is hard,’ he says. ‘Love is hard. No one ever listens. Because it _feels_ like it should be easy. But I think maybe you understand. It doesn’t come easy for you, but you’re trying anyway.’

Catra waits for the “but”.

‘Angella loved us. All of us. And she made a choice and it _hurt_ but it gave Adora back to us, and we love Adora, too. And I’m starting to understand that the two of you care about each other, more deeply than Glimmer and I ever realised. And what happened—’ He clears his throat. ‘What you did _sucks_. But I can’t imagine that Angella would hate you for it. Not after what I’ve seen you do in the last week. Sometimes—sometimes there’s no easy answers.’

Bow gets up again and returns to one of the cargo boxes, and it’s only then that Catra realises he’s done.

‘So…’ she says cautiously. ‘That means that… ?’

Bow turns around and throws something at her. Catra catches reflexively and stares at the pile of cloth in her arms. She’s only vaguely aware it’s called an apron.

When she looks at Bow again, he’s smiling. ‘It means you can start by helping me make lunch.’

*

That night Catra eases open the hidden closet in her room.

Her new clothes hang neatly from a single rail. She hasn’t worn them yet. It hasn’t felt right.

She takes them down. Traces the Horde symbol on the back. She doesn’t rip it away. She’s barely even aware of the seams coming undone beneath her claws. The back panel comes off in one piece, as if designed to do so, and drifts gently to the floor.

Catra gets dressed.

*

The door to the bridge opens with a whisper.

Catra doesn’t expect Adora to be there until she sees her silhouette in the captain’s chair, at which point it all makes sense. That’s why she’s here. It feels right.

Adora is muttering to herself. The overhead lights are all off, but Catra’s eyes adjust quickly, doing more with the faint light of stars than human eyes ever could. She comes up beside the chair on silent feet, bends down, and whispers ‘Hey,’ in Adora’s ear.

Adora jerks away, a strangled gasp dying on her lips, and for a moment she looks exactly like she did when they were younger, when everything was easier.

‘ _Catra!_ Don’t do that.’

‘Do what?’

The chair is big enough for two. That’s one of its major advantages. Catra hops the armrest, shoves Adora aside with her hip, and makes herself comfortable. Her thoughts skitter over the last time she sat in this chair. She turns the memory around. Reflects on it. Lets it go.

‘ _That_ ,’ Adora says, worming her arm out from underneath Catra. ‘Be annoying.’

‘You like it,’ Catra says, not unreasonably. And then, because she already knows but wants to know if Adora will answer, she asks, ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m… um.’

Catra can hear the blush in her voice. ‘Come on, Adora, it’s just you and me here.’

‘I’m trying to summon She-Ra,’ Adora gets out in a rush. ‘I need to be able to do it on demand and I thought maybe being alone would help? So I could focus?’

‘Okay. Go on.’

‘What? I said alone!’

Catra insinuates herself further into Adora’s lap. ‘You _are_ alone. Alone with me.’

And Adora’s hand is on her back, supporting her, and Catra can tell the exact moment Adora realises what it means that there’s no fabric between them, that she’s touching Catra where the Horde symbol isn’t.

‘Okay,’ Adora breathes. She stretches out her other arm.

Catra does her best not to laugh at the look of concentration on her face. She focuses on Adora’s eyes instead. They’re pretty, sparkly, and she only has a moment to wonder where the light is coming from before the sparkles turn to blinding, overwhelming radiance and for a split second it’s She-Ra sitting in the chair, She-Ra holding Catra to her chest.

‘Hey!’ Adora says while Catra is still blinking away the afterimage. ‘It worked. For a second. Why did it work?’

Adora keeps talking, but Catra isn’t listening anymore. Adora would figure it out, eventually. Catra is confident about that. Until then, she rests her cheek on Adora’s shoulder and closes her eyes.

 _She came back for me_ , Catra thinks. And: _She became She-Ra_ , _for_ me.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you thought! <3


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